Shatter
by Elessar King
Summary: The white beads slid off of the thin necklace and shattered onto the damp pavement, all rolling in separate directions. Oneshot.


Alright, um.. this is my first shot at writing Batman. I literally grew up on the movies, and along with Star Wars, it was really my very first fandom. So I at least have a general idea of what I'm doing, but as always, the first fic is to get inside the characters' heads and walk around a little. So if it's ooc at all, that's why. I got this idea randomly one day, it took forever to write, much to my annoyance, due to the fact that I've never written Batman before. But, I hope you like it and if you do, then I'll try to write more in the future.

Shatter

"_Bruce…don't be afraid…"_

He woke with a start, breathing hard and covered in sweat, the sound of the gunshots still ringing in his head. The room was dark; the curtain covering the large window was still shut. Taking a deep breath, Bruce brought a shaking hand up to brush his damp hair back out of his face. Dreams that never changed…dreams of a memory that would never go away, no matter how hard he tried. Or how much he fought.

The voice of his father still echoed in his ears. Thomas Wayne was not a harsh man to his son – he taught Bruce what he needed to know, but he did it in a way that Bruce never questioned his father's love. Yet still, even after the training and fine-tuning, even after learning to face his fears at the teaching of Henri Ducard, it was still something he could not let go. In some ways he blamed himself…if he had done something, or if he hadn't been afraid of the bats in the opera, or…there were thousands of or's and if's.

None of that could ever bring them back. Not even what he was doing now. It would never make the nightmares stop, because in someway, they had to remain. That memory would always have to be there, unfading, as clear as if it had happened yesterday…not years ago. Because with that memory was his focus – his motivation.

Bruce quickly interrupted his own thoughts with realization. It was dark. He had fallen asleep in the early evening after a very long day and not much sleep the morning (instead of night) before. It was his duty to be seen in both personas, not just in one, and many times it required a sacrifice of less sleep. As Bruce Wayne, he could pass it off easily, but as Batman…it was not as good. He had to be well-rested to fight the crime of Gotham City, as such, today he had to sleep. He quickly rolled out of bed and padded over in his barefeet to the window, quickly pulling the curtains open to reveal the night. Bruce brushed his dark hair back again and turned on his heel to leave the room.

Past the long hallways and marble stairs; the discordant notes on the piano, the trick bookshelf and the improved elevator; Bruce Wayne entered the cave. He opened the closet which held the black armor and quickly changed into it. Holding the pointy-eared cowl, he hit the intercom that was connected to upstairs, "Alfred?"

There was a slight pause before he heard the British butler's reply, _"Yes, Master Wayne?"_

"I'm going out."

"_Very good, sir. Good luck, I will meet you when you return."_

Bruce smiled slightly. No matter how many times he told Alfred that he didn't have to wait up for him, the man insisted, saying he merely wanted to do his job. Bruce could have argued that Alfred Pennyworth was employed by Bruce Wayne, not Batman, but truth be told, Alfred's insistence to meet him whenever he came back had been beneficial the times that things had gone less according to plan. Pulling the cowl over his head, and taking a deep breath, Batman jumped inside the tumbler and speed out of the cave.

* * *

Perched on top of one corner of one of the many tall buildings in Gotham, Batman scanned the streets. He was an ominous presence for anyone who saw him there, except the good people of the city, who had nothing to fear from the dark knight.

Years ago, he would have found himself distracted on such a night, as the nightmarish memories continued to haunt his thoughts. Not anymore. He had learned focus..strength…discipline. The memory was a personal issue, to be dealt with on his own time, but the concerned, the idea, that was what remained. If anything, perhaps he was more motivated tonight. And that did not bode well for the underworld.

A woman's scream caught his attention. Batman looked up sharply, identifying the direction without a problem. He ran across the roof and jumped off, spreading his wings and gliding through the alley of the Narrows. It was a short distance from the rooftop he had been on. Batman landed silently on a metal fire escape nearby.

Seven men had cornered a mother and son on the damp street below. The boy, not only than six-years-old, hid behind his mother, who was making an effort to defend him, but she was clearly terrified. They had to be part of the new street gang that was making an appearance on the streets. Batman had been keeping track of them carefully.

The apparent leader edged closer to the woman, armed with a knife. He grinned, showing a mouth of gold teeth, "C'mon, baby, I don't bite!"

"But I do," a raspy voice growled behind them.

The gang members turned quickly, surprised by the presence of the bat. The younger boys of the group started to back away slightly, while the others stared at him, thinking that perhaps running might be the best course of action now. They had all heard the stories. But the leader narrowed his eyes and shoved the closest boy to him, "Don't jus' stand there, get 'im!"

One of the larger thugs grinned, wielding a chain, and started to advance on Batman. The small push into battle was all that the other five needed. They closed in, trying to circle around and pin him before the battle even started. A slight grin of amusement crossed Batman's mouth as he put up his guard.

The first two were easily disarmed and thrown into another pair, knocking all four of them down. It wasn't really much of a contest, Batman wasn't phased at all, none of them could touch him. But the first encounter only angered the thugs.

Nearby, the woman and her son slowly tried to edge away, using the distraction to their advantage. The leader of the group, not being involved in the fight yet, noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. He tried to make a grab for the woman's neck, but she screamed, drawing attention to herself. Batman looked up as the leader ripped off her necklace. The white beads slid off of the thin necklace and shattered onto the damp pavement, all rolling in separate directions.

For a moment, he heard the scream and the gunshots… Looking over at the terrified boy clinging to his mother, he saw himself. The feeling became even more vivid than his nightmares. And for that moment, he wasn't Batman fighting off dangerous thugs to save a woman and her son, but Bruce Wayne, the boy who lost his parents too soon.

The distraction was evident enough to the attackers. Snapping the chain slightly in his hands, the largest man pulled it around Batman's neck while the others jumped on him to hold him down on the ground. The thug laughed and sneered in a cocky way, "We caught us a ova-grown bat!"

Batman struggled, but was restrained by the chain. One of them slammed the butt of his gun against Batman's face, cutting the side of his upper lip and the corner of his mouth. Pain didn't seem to phase the dark knight, but it did prove something. The Batman bled. And if he bled, he could be defeated. The thugs increased their beating – for an upcoming gang to take down Batman would grant them unlimited fame and power.

It was unforgivable; the distraction. After all of the times that Ducard had reprimanded him for not paying attention to his surroundings, the man would have been appalled at what happened tonight. He fought against them, trying to regain the upper-hand, but losing his concentration, even for a moment, was a costly mistake despite his training and strength.

The woman screamed again, and what had been a distraction before, now fuelled his adrenaline. Batman growled, shoving the gang kids off of him and flipping the man holding the chain over his shoulders and onto the ground. He focused, and with focus, the fight followed shortly after. They really were no match, despite the false hope they had gotten early.

At seeing his men beaten and laying on the ground, and Batman standing in the middle, the leader of the small group weighed his options carefully and made perhaps the best decision of his life. He ran.

Still shaken, the woman clutched her purse and her son close to her; her eyes on Batman. "Thank-..thank you…" she stuttered.

He shook his head, "You don't need to thank me. But be careful." He looked down at the boy, "And don't be afraid."

The boy stared up at Batman in amazement before his mother quickly pulled him along, out of the alley. As they were about to turn the corner, the boy looked back again. Batman nodded to him. The boy nodded back and disappeared.

He stood there for a moment after they left, looking down at the thugs on the ground before he started to tie them up to leave for the police. His task finished, Batman's eyes drifted to the beads on the ground. He walked over and picked one of them up, rolling it around in his hand before dropping it on the ground again. The shattered necklace. With a flutter of his cloak, he stepped over them and walked back into the night.

* * *

It was an hour to dawn that he finally returned to the manor, and his other name. Bruce came up into the house to find Alfred waiting for him, a pack of ice in hand. He looked at the old butler curiously and nodded slightly to the ice, "How did you know?"

Alfred smiled slightly, "Lucky guess, sir. Are you all right otherwise, may I get you anything else?"

Taking the ice from him, Bruce shook his head, "No..I'm fine, it's nothing… Unless you can get me a good cover story or a way to avoid tomorrow…" He held the ice up to the bruising that was already starting to form as he started to walk upstairs.

"I'll do my best to think of something, sir, unless you do…Just-..Master Wayne?" Alfred asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Bruce paused and looked back down at him.

"No more drunken stories, I doubt that your honor can take any more of that."

"Ok, Alfred, no more embarrassing stories," he half-smiled, starting to climb the stairs again, "Even if those are the most fun."

Sighing, Alfred shook his head and watched his young charge disappear up the staircase before he turned and walked away, muttering quietly to himself.

Once he got to the master bedroom, Bruce stood there for a moment, as he had done on the street. He was exhausted, but he almost didn't want to sleep, for fear of what his dreams might bring him. Walking over to the desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. Only a few things had been able to be saved out of the wreckage of the fire that were mementos of his parents or the old manor. In fact, all of them fit in the wooden box.

He set it down on top of the desk and opened it with one hand, the other still holding the pack of ice to his mouth. Bruce reached inside the box and picked up a few pearls, letting them roll around in his bare hand. They were his mother's. The police department had released them after Chill's trial, when they weren't being used as evidence anymore.

Bruce let them fall from his hand into the box again. His father had always told him to be brave, even in his last words on his dying day… Slowly, he closed the lid of the box and traced his finger around the edges. _I do not have fear, I have become it._

"I'm not afraid…not anymore," Bruce whispered.


End file.
